


Make My Whole Body

by leupagus



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-30
Updated: 2011-08-30
Packaged: 2017-10-23 05:47:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leupagus/pseuds/leupagus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny doesn't get to walk away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make My Whole Body

**Author's Note:**

  * For [waldorph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waldorph/gifts).



Danny's beautiful like this, underneath him, his back arching off the bed and his legs wrapped clumsily around Steve's waist. "Come on," Danny gasps, "Make me - sorry." He twists his hips against Steve's thrusts, dragging his mouth down Steve's throat. It's not an apology, but Steve's not sure he can want anything other than this, now.

*

 _(Earlier:)_

Someone's been through the house - someone after HPD's Internal Affairs, sniffing around for proof that Steve put a bomb in Laura's car and a bullet in Jameson's brain - cleaning, wiping up dust and fingerprint powder, straightening picture frames. Steve looks around and doesn't touch anything. He's not sure what he'd feel under his fingertips; if he'd feel anything at all.

Danny's too much of a cop not to notice. It used to be endearing, but now it just sets Steve's teeth on edge when Danny says, "The couch isn't going to bite, Steve. Sit your ass down."

Steve goes into the kitchen instead. He's a free man, now - he can go where he wants, and he wants to see the kitchen, see the cheap diner table that Mom paid too much for at some antique store when he was fifteen. Steve'd made some kale chips the night before he was arrested and never had time to clean up. But the table's polished, empty; he reaches out and runs a hand along the smooth, cool surface and tries to put a name to this feeling.

"So what, you want to do an inventory? I don't think the crew took any of the family silver," Danny says from the doorway, and thank God for Danny, Steve thinks. Thank God, because Danny can snap Steve into action faster than anyone else, and looking up at his smirking fucking face, Steve realizes exactly what he's feeling. Two strides takes him to the fridge, and he jerks open the door to find the evidence he knows will be sitting there neat on the center shelf, put there by conscientious cleaners. Sure enough - six Longboards in their cardboard carrier. He pulls it out and slams it down on the countertop.

"What's this?" he asks, keeping his voice down, even though he wants to have the kind of screaming match he remembers echoing through this house when he was a kid.

There's a flash of guilt in Danny's eyes that sets Steve's teeth on edge before he snaps, "It's a six-pack, Steve, I'd think you of all people would recognize beer that you didn't buy--"

"You bought it," Steve says. "You bought it and you brought it over here that night. Why?"

"You _know_ why," says Danny, quiet. "Don't--"

"Tell me," Steve orders. He can order Danny - he doesn't have to press a phone up to his ear and beg for information anymore, and he won't ever again.

Danny looks away, out the darkened window. "I needed to talk to you," he says. "About Rachel and Grace and," he sighs, scrubs a hand over his face. "About how I was leaving the team."

For a few seconds Steve can't talk past the hot pain in his gut; because he's known, ever since he blinked up at the ceiling of solitary confinement and thought put the beer and Rachel's departure together and realized what should've been obvious to anyone with half a brain.

"So what kept you here this long?" Steve says, turning and grabbing a bottle opener. He pops the cap of the first bottle and upends it over the sink, letting the beer splatter down the drain.

"I uh, figured I had some loose ends to tie up before I - so what, you've developed a taste for prison-made moonshine or something?" Danny says, and his voice is closer, he's moved closer, and it's all Steve can do not to break the bottle in his fist. "Longboards no longer palatable?"

"Consider this loose end tied up," he says instead, and drops the bottle in the sink. It doesn't break. He reaches out and opens another bottle.

"Steve, what are you doing?" There's a touch at Steve's shoulder and that's it - that's _it_.

Steve drops the bottle and this one breaks, the hiss of foam blurring into the tinkle of glass, and gets both his hands on Danny, shoving him up against that shiny-clean kitchen table. "You're leaving," Steve says, calm and cool and keeping Danny's struggles from breaking his hold.

"Steven, what the _fuck_ , let go of me--"

"You're leaving and you think some beer is going to take care of that. You think it's _enough_? Well fuck you," Steve says, shaking him, because how could Steve have ever thought Danny was worth it if he's this _stupid_? "You don't walk away with a beer and a 'see you later,' you got that?"

"So what does it take, then?" Danny says, his fingers wrapped around Steve's wrists, squeezing and hurting but it's nothing Steve hasn't ignored before. "What do I have to do to walk away from you?"

The kiss isn't really a kiss; it's a bite, teeth catching and scraping down. Danny lets go of Steve's wrists and Steve pulls him in, fingernails digging into Danny's waist so he can hear Danny gasp in pain. "You don't," Steve says.

*

Someone's even been cleaning the bedroom; Steve makes the bed but the sheets are folded down differently, now, and when he shoves Danny down on the bedspread he has to push off a blanket folded neatly at the foot of it.

For a moment, Steve stays standing over him, one knee on the bed between Danny's legs. He looks like he's been in a fight, his hair messed up and his lip swollen. But then he makes a move to sit up, and Steve can't look anymore - not when he can _touch_. He gets impatient with Danny's shirt halfway through unbuttoning it, pulls it apart with a tearing sound and slides a hand up Danny's stomach to his collarbone, scratching down again when Danny jerks against his touch.

"That a punishment, too?" Danny says, the first thing he's said since the kitchen. "For trying to leave?"

It's light, teasing, and Steve wonders if Danny somehow doesn't think he's serious. "Yes," Steve says, and grabs Danny's wrists in one hand to hold them over his head while he unbuckles Danny's belt. He straddles Danny's hips so he can keep him safely pinned, helpless underneath.

Danny shudders under him when he palms his cock. "Steve, please," he says.

"I don't want please," Steve says. He jerks him, rough, too fast and hard, but Danny's swelling in his hand and squirming in his grip.

"What - oh, God - what do you want," Danny pants against his mouth.

"I want sorry," Steve says.

"No, what, I'm," Danny says, and comes hot and wet all over his stomach. Steve lets go and sits up, just a little, watching Danny's wide eyes and empty mouth.

"I want you," he says, reaching over to pull open the drawer and grab some lube, "To tell me you're never doing it again. I want you to remember this," as he yanks Danny's pants and boxers off, "Every time you think you can leave."

Danny doesn't say anything, just clenches his jaw like he's getting ready for torture, but he doesn't fight Steve when he spreads his legs and pushes a finger inside. Instead he closes his eyes and bares his neck, and Steve can't resist that invitation.

"You don't get to walk away from me," he tells him, pressing in a second finger; he wants to hurt Danny so badly, bruise him up and cut him down and make him sorry he ever thought he'd get away with this. "You're mine, and you go when I tell you to go."

It's almost disappointing that the only thing Danny manages are low, animal sounds, barely audible above the sound of the bed and the ocean. Steve hooks one knee - Danny's bad knee, this is going to make him scream - under his elbow and spreads Danny open wider, adding a third finger.

"You got that?" Steve asks, prompting, taunting.

Danny blinks his eyes open. "You want me to be sorry," he says, "You're going to have to do better than this."

Steve curses, shoves his fingers as deep as they'll go, but Danny's _laughing_ , slinging an arm around Steve's neck and bringing him down into a sloppy kiss. Steve can't fight him, with his cock snug against Danny's thigh and rubbing mindlessly. He might come in his pants, which doesn't seem like such a bad thing.

"Can't even punish a guy right," Danny murmurs, and Steve feels clever fingers at the zipper of his pants, pushing and pulling him free and it's less desire than desperation that has him sinking into Danny, faster than he should but slower than he wants, listening to noises that might be him or might be Danny.

Danny hasn't let him go; he's got one hand still tangled in Steve's pants, using it to urge him forward, even while he curls his legs around Steve like he's keeping him in place. "Come on," he says, sweet and slow and smiling into Steve's kisses, "Make me sorry."


End file.
